


Who am I?

by jukes_box_blues



Category: Dragonlance - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
Genre: Gen, Nightmares, and this is what i crank out at 3 am, crysania is mentioned, i havent written anything for any fandom in at least a year, i see the italicize button and i go haywire, if you have thoughts about dragonlance hand them over, no beta we die like men, overuse of italics probably, please get raistlin majere into therapy, shout out to yall, so is fistandantilus but only for a bit, this goes out to the other 5 people that like dragonlance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26451475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jukes_box_blues/pseuds/jukes_box_blues
Summary: Glancing towards his brother, he spoke quietly. "I am his body guard, that much is true, but the mage's real name is Fistandantilus."Raistlin immediately froze in fear, in terror. Fistandantilus.
Relationships: Caramon Majere & Raistlin Majere
Kudos: 9





	Who am I?

"We would follow _you_ without hesitation, great warrior, but what have you to do with this black-robed wizard? Who is _he_ , that we should follow him?" The young man who had been talking with Caramon stepped forwards, looking intensely at Raistlin.

Stiffening, the mage responded, gesturing to Caramon, "My name is Raistlin. This man is my bodyguard."  


Oddly satisfied by the lack of response other than some disappointed frowns and doubtful glares sent the mage's way, he stepped back a bit, figuring that was that and he would be on his merry way, with Caramon and Crysania in tow.  


Caramon, as it turned out, had other ideas. Glancing towards his brother, he spoke quietly, "I am his bodyguard, that much is true, but the mage's real name is Fistandantilus."  
Raistlin immediately froze in fear, in terror. Fistandantilus. He couldn't help but shake a bit, glancing at Caramon hoping for some sort of respite, some sort of declaration that he was, in fact, _Raistlin_ , not Fistandantilus. Panic was written on Raistlin's face. All the mage got was a look of surprise in return.  


Raistlin was barely able to notice the looks of fear tinged with admiration he had received after Caramon had informed the men of his "real name". The sounds of the same young man who had inquired of the black-robed mage's identity stepping forwards and bowing in front of him and Caramon were muffled by his own thoughts, his own fears.  


The mage's thoughts were encroaching upon dangerous, surpassing the threshold of frenzy, of fear. _Was that who I was? Did I lose back there, in_ his _laboratory? If Caramon was unable to truly tell the difference between me and_ him _, had_ I _become_ him _? Have I become the same man who did nothing but suck my soul dry and give onto me a life of terror and pain that I would have otherwise been blissfully unaware of had I not encountered_ him _there, during my Test? Were we one and the same? Had we always been such? Was I unknowingly lying to Caramon, to Crysania, about who I was because I, Raistlin, couldn't handle losing, let alone to someone like_ him _. Who, exactly, was I? Who was I doomed to become? Whose were the footsteps I was forced to follow within my nightmare? Were they mine or were they_ his _? Did it matter? Did I lose back there, in the laboratory, despite my best attempts? If I had lost, that would make me_ him _? Does that make_ my _thoughts_ his _and if it doesn't, what does it mean? Does it mean that_ he _could understand my every thought, my every action? Was_ he _controlling me, draining me of my very soul, again without my knowledge? Was I doomed to be nothing but a prized possession to_ him _, a body that he could inhabit without care, without remorse? What does it matter? If I was him, then_ who am I _?_  
These thoughts swirled through the mage's head on an endless loop, always coming back to the same point. One simple, yet terrifying, question that he could not answer, no matter how hard he had tried: _Who am I?_  


Raistlin jumped slightly upon hearing the young man's sword fall to his and Caramon's feet as he glanced up apprehensively. Others quickly began to do the same. Others simply left. One quick count later, Raistlin realized that Caramon had been left with roughly 30 men. So, this was to be the beginnings of what would become "The Army of Fistandantilus". It was… oddly _pathetic_.  


But, then again, so was Raistlin. At least, he thought so at this moment. _Who is "Raistlin"?_  


Still unable to stop his thoughts from capturing him in a wave of panic, Raistlin started to head off towards the fire. He ignored the men, the newly declared soldiers as it were, and tried to ignore his own thoughts. Raistlin attempted to ignore the ever present question of _Who am I?_ floating around in his mind because he knew no answer would satisfy and one answer would only make things worse.  


Caramon came and sat next to him for a bit, handing his brother the bread they had bought before they had gotten themselves into this entire situation. Shaking slightly, Raistlin took it and began to eat ever so slowly. Caramon spoke of the new army that he had acquired; Raistlin had half a mind to inquire about earlier, about the name he used. The questions, still, unable to escape his mind. Raistlin was fully aware that he could quell them through his brother's answer, his brother's _comfort_. Caramon's heartfelt, smothering, nigh unbearable _comfort_ … something the mage resented, something the mage couldn't find himself living without.  


But Raistlin didn't ask. He couldn't find the words. For once, he simply couldn't find the words. Raistlin remained painfully silent while his mind burned the midnight oil searching for answers.  


_Who am I?_  


Instead, Raistlin simply informed his brother that he was on his own this time. "I knew next to nothing of military strategy, my brother. My strengths lie in magic and the power that comes alongside it, not in affairs of the sword."  


Raistlin had half a mind to tell his brother that military strategy was Caramon's strong suit and that he would be fine. Caramon has always had a mind for strategy, even when the pair was young.  


_Was that all it was? Was him referring to me as Fistandantilus just a strategic ploy? Ask him. Ask him, just a-_  


Raistlin's thoughts began to wander once more. He was unable to ask the question that burned in his mind, as Caramon had finished his own piece of bread and began to walk off. Raistlin watched his brother carefully as Caramon walked towards the now dead half-ogre's former tent, claiming it as his own.  


Once Caramon had closed the tent flap, Raistlin did nothing but stare into the fire, slowly eating my bread, allowing his thoughts to consume him as he drifted off to sleep.  


_Who am I?_  


There was no answer. An answer would never come, could never come.  


The simple, straightforward answer of being himself wasn't good enough. There was no way to be sure that's who he was. Merely entertaining the notion of being the other black robed mage was enough to send the magus into a panicked state. One that the mage was trying desperately to avoid, as he wasn't alone and had acquired a reputation as a wizard who had done "deeds as dark as his robes", or something of that sort according to the young man. The black-robed mage was unable to catch what the young man had actually said, due to his wandering thoughts. The army probably wouldn't follow a wizard such as him, the mage thought, brought down so low by a simple _name_.  


How _pathetic_.  


The magus simply asked for blankets and curled up next to the fire, trying his damndest to will his mind to drift off. However, a resonant question still lingered within his thoughts.  


_Who am I?_

  
* * *  


_The laboratory was dark, lit only by a few candles. The laboratory was cold, made colder by the stone slab the black robed mage had been instructed to lay upon._  


 _The laboratory was, above all else, empty (save for the two mages currently seated within it) and secluded. Nobody could come and save him now, not that anyone would bother. Nobody could hear him scream, not that he would dare try. The mage was stuck here, awaiting the moment the other mage would come back into his line of sight._  


_And so he did, after a while. After a long, grueling while._  


_After revealing to the other mage his true nature, his true intent, he quietly opened the mage's robes and pulled down the mage's undershirt, placing the pendant, the bloodstone, upon his chest, beginning to mutter the words to the spell. One that would drain the mage of his life, of his soul._  


"Listen carefully, young magus. You are about to hear them. They will be the last words you ever hear."  


_The mage upon the slab shut his eyes, avoiding the face that had haunted his being years ago (in the future?) as he put all of his concentration into the words the other black robed mage was muttering. He softly repeated them back, fully aware that it would null the effect._  


_The spell ended._  


_The mage on the slab was alive and, suddenly, acutely aware of the cool yet burning sensation of the bloodstone being pressed into his chest._  


The bloodstone!  


_Noticing, quickly, that the other mage's eyes were still shut as he awaited the transference of life, the mage reached up and unclasped the pendant, silently pocketing it as the mage above him staggered backwards in shock and alarm, finally recognizing who he was facing._  


_The other mage laughed, hand clenched around the bloodstone that sat like a weight in his pocket, waiting in anticipation for the right moment to reveal it's true location. It came, eventually, alongside a grim realization._  


_It would end. Life for one. Death for the other._  


_But who was the other?_  


_Memories of centuries of knowledge, of strength, of power, came flooding to the mage, alongside the ever present memories of a brother, a twin, of a shattered body beyond repair. Memories that never, truly, answered the questions they brought alongside them._  


_Who was the other? Who had death brought upon them? Who had crumbled under the weight of the bloodstone and the horrible incantation it came with? Who was the victor? Who held the bloodstone in his hand? Who stood above the other black robe, confident yet exhausted? Who had truly fallen this night?_  


…  


_One, singular question came to the mage's mind as he stared down into the bloodstone he had felt so victorious in using just moments prior._

Who am I?

  
* * *  


_Who am I?_  


The mage, the one who reigned victorious, bloodstone pendant a heavy weight around his neck, jolted awake. Afraid, alarmed, he started at his hands, tinted a ghastly purple-ish red due to Lunitari's appearance in the sky.  


"Who am I?" The question was whispered aloud this time, fear ever present in his voice. Glancing around, he noticed the cleric asleep by the fire. He had half a mind to wake her and ask her the question he had spent months asking himself.  


He didn't. Or, well, he couldn't.  


The black-robed mage was unable to move. Instead, he glanced over to the tent. _Caramon_. He could help, right?  


Whispering the words to a spell, the black robed mage quickly sent a message to the general of the army. _"Apologies for waking you. I… I request your assistance. Come and help, please. I… I need you."_  


Moments passed. Long, horrible, dreary moments before the mage noticed the tent flap open as the general made his way over to the mage, who was still lying still on the ground next to the now dwindling flame.  


"What's, uh, what's wrong?" Caramon asked, the effects of sleep still present in his voice.  


"Caramon," the mage started, suddenly aware of just how _small_ he was. " _Who am I?_ "  


Unsure of how to answer, Caramon just started dumbly at the mage as he continued.  


"Earlier, you called me Fistandantilus," the mage said, spitting out the name with such undeniable hatred. "Who am I? I can't… I don't know who I am. Who am I?"  


Blinking slowly as the fire finally went out, Caramon spoke, "You're my brother. You're a magus, and a damn brilliant one at that, who enjoys gathering, collecting, and studying herbs. You are a sleight-of-hand illusionist and performer, using it as a means to make money and as something for your hands to just do while you study or prepare your spells. You are many things, more than just that, but you are my brother. To me, you are my brother above all. You're _Raistlin_ , and that's… well, that's enough."  


"Raistlin." The mage repeated after his brother. "That's who I am?"  


"That's who you are."  


"Shame the fire went out," the mage said, his voice dying out towards the end. "I would have asked you to, uh, make the shadow puppets like you used to. When I was younger, to ch-"  


"To chase the nightmares away. I don't think any old mage named Fistandantilus would remember that, Raist." Caramon sighed, looking down at his brother. "Sorry for calling you that name. I thought it would get the rest of them to join us."  


"Well, it worked. A moment of wisdom, I suppose." Raistlin smiled grimly.  


"Still, it was an asshole thing to do, e-"  


"You were unaware of the effect it would have, my brother. There's no need to apologize for good strategy, just as there is no need to apologize for the consequences. You had no way of knowing, nor did I."  


"But…-" Caramon tried to argue back, but got cut off by Raistlin.  


"If you feel the need to apologize, my brother, then you can stay. Tell me stories of home, of our childhood, remind me of who I am, that is apology enough."  


Caramon smiled softly at his brother, who had curled back up under the blankets he had been gifted earlier. Quietly running his fingers through Raistlin's hair, Caramon began to speak of home, of Solace. Of shared friends embarking on a journey, with a holy relic in tow. Of new adventures. Of old friends. Of _home_.  


Raistlin quietly drifted back to sleep. Content, for once, in the fact that he was _Raistlin_ and nothing more.


End file.
